History's Repeat
by Antilles
Summary: It's the year 2004, and Welton Academy is a mixed private school. Then, the Dead Poets Society is resurfacing for the first time since Neil Perry's suicide, but are they to repeat history? {the story is COMPLETE}
1. one

_**History's repeat**_

**Summary: It's the year 2004, and Weldon Academy had gone through some serious changes. For instance, it is no longer called an Academy, but rather it is a private school. Another example is that it is for boys only no longer. The rules are still on place.**

**Christine Hatcheson, more commonly known as Chris, is an eerie look-alike to Neil Perry, the leader of the last Dead Poets Society, which was disbanded after Neil's suicide. When Chris discovers an old book, 'Five Centuries of Verse', she heads the newest Society. With Chris as its unofficial leader, the history of the last Society is about to repeat itself… Or will it?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'Dead Poets' or the poems. The 'Poets' belong to their creators, and most of the poems here, as well as bits and pieces of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' belong to Robert Frost and William Shakespeare**

**A/N: This is something I came up with after re-reading a few stories on the DPS. As you have noticed, I moved the story into modern time, but the school life is unchanged. OH, and the story is almost complete, all I'm left is a throughout or not so proofreading**

01. Hellton

"Well, here we are, Hellton."

Chris Hatcheson punches her brother, George, good-naturally.

"Shut it, George."

"What? It's been called that since…"

"1959, and it stuck." John Smith bugs in. "O-oh, here they come. Traditional escort."

The girl and boys quiet down, as a group of boys march down the aisle, bearing the standards of the Weldon Academy's slogan: Tradition, Excellence, Honor, and Discipline. Nothing changed for several decades – save one thing.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Headmaster begins. "Boys and girls. The light of Knowledge."

The boy at the front lights a candle, and starts passing it around the crowd. Slowly, oh so slowly, the candles around the uniformed students light up. The crowd of Weldon is mixed today – both boys and girls stand in the church, as they pass the light around, their faces blank and void of emotion.

"In the year 1859, the 41 boys who sat here were asked the same question you are asked here now. Ladies and Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?"

Those in uniforms rise to their feet.

"Tradition, Honor, Excellence, and Discipline," They say, and it echoes around the walls. Chris and a few of the first-years roll their eyes to the ceiling and exchange all-knowing smirks.

The mass drags on, as the new teachers are introduced and the final speeches being made.

"Finally!" Rojer Dalton says, shrugging off his jacket. "I can't believe this ceremony dragged as long as it had!"

"Better believe it, Roj, you're about to stay here for what, next four years?" Alex Perry flops on his bed, throwing his duffel bag on the floor. His room mate groans.

"Don't remind me, Alex. I swear I'm gonna kill the next person who says that again."

"Four years, four years, four years… Ahhh!" Alex dodges a thick Chemistry book, which Rojer had sent on him earlier. "What's gotten into you?"

"Having fun boys?"

The roommates glance up, grinning as Chris and George Hatcheson join the group. Chris, short for Christine, smoothes an invisible wrinkle on her pleated skirt, and flops down next to Alex.

"How was your summer?" Nikkie Anderson asks off-handedly. She's another part of the small group of friends, formed over a brief meeting in the courtyard.

Her question is followed by a few 'fine's', groans, and good-natural chuckles until Chris announces,

"Brilliant until I got news that I'm to attend Hellton!"

This breaks the people up, and they start laughing.

"Hellton?" Amy Amaris just joins the crowd, managing to catch the last word. Amy is the owner of glasses, slightly long mousy hair, and a small, only about 5' figure.

"That's what everyone calls this place," Nikkie explains shortly. "Ohh, we're receiving our timetables tomorrow. I just hope it's not Chem first thing in the morning, I can't stand Chem as it is!"

This time, a few texts are aimed for Nikkie's head, and the girl disappears in the next room, pretending to faint.

"See ya lot tomorrow," she mocks behind the closed doors.

"We'll get you, Anderson," Alex and Chris yell in unison, as George takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey he discovered somewhere.

"Amaris. The door. Closed. Now." George points to the door. Amy winces, but shuts it without putting a latch on.

"So…" Alex grins at the crowd. "Anyone did anything unusual?"

Chris raises her hand.

"I visited the cemetery that's next to the school. They have a person isolated in there."

This catches the other folks' interest.

"Isolated? Here at Hellton? Where did you find it, sis?" George stares at his sister in amusement.

"I swear it!" Chris starts pacing the room. "He's been a part of something called 'Dead Poets Society'."

"Well, DUH!." Nikkie had snuck back in and is watching Chris with an air of amazement on her face. "Of course he'll be called that – he's dead!"

"I'll show you tomorrow," Chris says, flopping back on the bed and aiming another book at Nikkie's head. Nikkie recoils, making a sign for warding off evil while the others laugh.

"Oh, come on, Chris, it's so much better now!" Alex springs from his bed. "Where?"

"Oh, all right, let's go."

The group of seven students sneak out of the building and to the graveyard. The hinges of the metal doors creak, and they avoid it. Chris expertly vaults the fence, and the others get around it as they can – nobody wants to use the entrance at night.

_I have been one acquainted with the night.  
I have walked out in rain and back in rain.  
I have outwalked the furthest city light.  
I have looked down the saddest city lane.  
I have passed by the watchman on his beat  
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain_

Seven flashlights work in the dark fog, as Chris counts her followers. Alex, George, Nikkie, and Amy are there, and they lifted Ana Lee and John Smith on their way to the graveyard. Now they gather all around Chris, and Amy shivers – her uniform skirt and blazer don't make things easier for her.

"Creepy," Alex whispers softly.

The others shush him, and the group quietly rushes to the farthest end of the graveyard, barely making out the headstones. The one that had intrigued Chris is indeed separated from the rest of them, a tall marble column like the others, with a cross on the top.

_I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet  
When far away an interrupted cry  
Came over houses from another street,_

The seven flash their lights over the headstone, lighting up a photograph of a teen.

"What's a teenager doing on the graveyard?" Amy wonders quietly.

"Well, he's dead, isn't he?" Alex reads the inscription,

**"Neil Perry, born 1942 – died 1959… beloved son… "**

"And look!" Nikkie points to the bottom of the engraving.

Somebody had added,

**"Carpe Diem."**

"Carpe Diem?" Alex wonders softly, as he looks at the photograph of the boy.

"Guys, you do realize he was seventeen when he died?" John hisses softly.

The rest stand in silence as they all watch the grave. Ana lowers some flowers she picked on the way to the graveyard and steps back.

_But not to call me back, or say good-bye_

"I wonder what's happened to him." Chris says thoughtfully. "Neil Perry…"

"Carpe Diem – Seize the day," John says quietly. "Maybe he did just that?"

"Why would his grave be isolated, then?" Nikkie wonders. "And what's all that about Dead Poets Society?"

"Well, look at the date," Ana says quietly. "I heard people who committed suicides during those days were buried separately from the others."

"Ana, he died well after the Second World War," Alex points out quietly. "That rite you're talking about has expired with the end of Middle Ages."

"Alex, this is Hellton we're talking about," Amy says quietly, watching at the photo. "For all we know, they're still back at those Middle Ages, just without restrictions of modern era. You know, tradition and all that shit. Probably, they still separate the suicidal ones here."

"Then why is he the only one that's separated from the others?" Nikkie thinks aloud. "If he did kill himself, surely there were the others who did the same thing here."

"Here in this world, sure, here in Hellton, I doubt it," George whispers.

"We'll find out about it," Chris says, her eyes flashing in the light. "For now, let's go. It won't do us any good if we're caught here."

The bell chimes in the night as six figures leave the graveyard and silently run back to the academy.

_And further still, at the unearthly height_

_One luminary clock against the sky_

_Proclaimed time was neither wrong nor right._

Chris holds back. She crouches down, softly touching the headstone, thinking about life in general. Then she stands up.

"Rest in peace, Neil Perry," she whispers softly, before leaving to follow the others to the school.

_I had been one acquainted with night._


	2. two

**History's Repeat**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the 'Poets' nor the poems. The 'Poets' belong to their creators but for my characters and setting, and most of the poems belong to Robert Frost**

**A/N: chapter 2 – Chris and Co try to adjust to living in 'Hellton'**

02. First Day

A first ring of the bell meets Chris and her gang in the cafeteria, as Chris is trying to eat.

"And they call this food?" Ana asks with disgust. The others snicker.

"The only reason I'm eating this is because I don't want to pass out in class," Chris says. "I heard they're still using whips and pads per se punishment."

The others wince, and Amy gingerly ties her hair away from her face.

"I have no idea how I'm going to cope," she moans quietly. "It's Chem first, just as Nikkie predicted. Drat."

"But, look, we have Art next," Chris points out, as the group compares their timetables. "Heck, all of us are in the same class."

"Hey, Chris, that actually, rhymed," Alex smirks at her. The others grin and Chris tosses back her dark hair.

"Speaking of rhyme, did anyone found out more about Neil Perry, Carpe Diem, or Dead Poets?" she asks in a whisper. "I bet everything's bound together."

The others shake their heads.

"What do you say, we'll try to find out about it after classes?" John whispers. The others nod their heads and trot to Chemistry, Amy with a moan and Chris with a broad smirk, as she mutters some formulas under her breath.

Chemistry is boring. So is Algebra. The teacher of Trigonometry makes it entertaining by threatening extra homework due next day – which elicits groans from the class. Latin is worse than Trig.

"God, I hope English won't be dreary," Nikkie says, as she tries to make a proper cat out of her clay.

Chris doesn't answer. She is too busy with shaping her own brick into the crown of thorns, without even knowing why she is doing it.

When they pile into the room, the teacher is not there. The loud chatter subsides suddenly, as the teacher-in-question, Miss Richards, walks through the doors of her office, whistling a tune from the 1812 Overture. She walks through the class and disappears in the hallway.

A stunned silence is what follows that act. The students exchange amazed looks and shrugs. Miss Richards peeks into the room.

"Well, where are you lot?" she asks impatiently. "Follow me, everyone"

Shrugging and grinning, Chris and George lead the rest of the class out of the room, picking their texts along the way.

Miss Richards leads them outside of Welton Academy, out onto the grass. She stops on the river bank and seats herself on the old tree stump.

"Take your seats, people and take a very careful look around."

The teens glance at each other uneasily, not knowing what to expect from the teacher. Chris is the first to sit on her knees, gazing around.

The nature deserves very careful scrunity, as the golden leaves twirl in the slight wind. One of them had tangled itself in Chris's dark hair and she untangles it, letting it drift towards the ground where it joined the rest in the golden carpet that gathered under everyone's feet. A few other stray leaves covered heads of the confused students, and they didn't even notice those,m trying to see what their teacher wanted them too.

"Look here. Who can tell me the difference between these two leaves?" The teacher asks, holding up a golden leaf and bringing it closer to the fallen one. The leaf on the ground was already grey and withered, without any colour and life.

"The golden leaf still has colour in it," Ana volunteers timidly.

"That's the part of it." Miss Richards points up. "And how much are these to different from… let's say… Ah, thank you, Mr Perry… From this one?" She holds up a green leaf, which Alex had recently brushed off.

"Well, this one had just tangled in my hair," Alex grumbles good-naturally, amidst several chuckles.

"Nice try. But, really, what's the difference between these three leaves and those that are still up there?" The teacher glances around the circle. "Anyone?"

The students glance at each other in confusion. Miss Richards sighs.

"Miss Stiles, read the poem on page 250, please."

Julia opens up her text and raises her slender eyebrows.

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying.

And this same flower that smiles today,

Tomorrow will be dying,"

She reads sarcastically.

"Thank you, Miss Stiles, and no need to sound so sarcastic. Now, who can tell me what is the similarity between what we were talking about and what had been written?"

"Easy, Ma'am," Rojer snickers. "We were talking about leaves, and this poem is about flowers."

A swift scattering of laughter is Rojer's reward, before Miss Richards gently shakes her head.

"Look." Again, she lowers the golden leaf and the green leaf next to the brown one. "See? Those are the same leaves. Now, imagine that this is one and the same leaf over a few days. It starts out as bright green, swaying up the tree on the wind. Then, the wind picks it up. Then, it tears out from its root. It falls to the ground or in the water… Or in somebody's hair…"

A scatter of laughter.

"Then, if fit's still green, it slowly turns to brown. Dry brown. If it had time to turn gold before falling off, it's still turning brown, only much faster. Eventually…"

Miss Richards looks each of her students in their eyes, and they lean in closer.

"Eventually, it falls apart. It dies."

Silence.

"Now, why did I talk about all those leaves." Miss Richards pushes a strand of her blond hair behind her ear and grins.

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." She glances about the crowd. "It also means, 'Carpe Diem'. Who can tell me what that is?"

"Carpe Diem, seize the day," Alex volunteers.

"Thank you, Mr Perry." Miss Richards picks up another golden leaf and holds it up. "Imagine this is somebody's life. It will soon fall apart, for the leaf is golden and soon will turn to dust." She nods at the grey leaf. "This is a representation of somebody who is already dead. The leaves left nothing but dust behind them. The people left an impression, a verse of their own in the world, no matter how insignificant it was."

Chris stares at the distance, her eyes going slightly glassy, as she thinks about Neil Perry.

'Like leaves, huh? I wonder what legacy there was after that one leaf…'

"Carpe Diem." The teacher repeats and the girls and boys snap out of their respective reveries. "Think about it, Ladies and Gentlemen. Before you decay like these leaves, you will leave a verse behind you, no matter if you want it or not. Only you can shape that verse, only you can make your lives extraordinary."

Miss Richards looks directly at Chris, Alex, Ana, Amy, and their friends.

"I wonder, how you will write your verses. Tell me once you're done."

With that, Miss Richards gets up from the tree stump, leaving her students behind to mull over the lesson.

Half of them are dazed, another half are confused, and another third are asleep.

"You bummers, wake up!" George punches two nearest sleeping students. "We're going to have today's lesson on the test and you overslept it!"

The group wakes up. Julia looks at George stupidly, as through she doesn't know how she got there.

"Tim, what's Carpe Diem?" George demands, as the others look on curiously.

Tim Leigh looks confused.

"Car… what?"

The students snicker and George shakes his head in exasperation.

"Figures. Count your test a failure, Timothy."

Chris and the others laugh and make a dash towards the Academy, as a church bell marks an end of the day.

Chris stops for a brief moment to listen to the chime. It seems to her that the very wind is whispering the words that had been said in the school more than once.

"Carpe Diem… Make your lives extraordinary…"

**A/N: up next – Chris visits the graveyard and the cave, and discovers a very important book**


	3. three

History's Repeat

Disclaimer: look chapters 1 and 2.

A/N: chapter 3 – Chris visits the graveyard and finds a very special book

3. Whispers of the Past

Shaking her head to free herself of the strange spell, Chris leaves the room along with the rest of the class.

"Well, that was weird," Alex comments, shifting his books in his hands.

"It was… different," Chris answers; she is still under the spell of the lesson, and unknowingly mirrors the dreamy smile of one of the dead boys.

"You think we're gonna have a test on that stuff?" Julia asks nervously. "I haven't managed to take a single note in there."

"Surprise, surprise," George snickers. "Didn't you hear her? Didn't you get anything she told us?"

Juila looks confused as the rest of the group, Chris included, shake their heads in exasperation and trot off to their next destination.

As the friends stay for the study group, Chris's head is buried in the old Annual. The usual noises around her are dimmed, and she grins as she hears Alex and Amy trying to put an old radio together, with occasional cursing in-between. On her other side, George, Nikkie, and John are scrawling away at their homework.

Chris sighs, scrawls 'Carpe Diem' in her notebook and starts sketching there. Somehow, the fantasy knight that appears on the page looks like Neil Perry. Chris heaves another sigh and bangs her notebook shut.

Alex and Amy jump and relax, as Chris leaves the study hall.

"Where are you going?" Alex whispers quietly, trying not to attract the unnecessary attention from the others.

"For a stroll," Chris answers, holding up the Annual. "I'll drop this off as well."

"'kay."

Their curiosity satisfied, Alex and Amy bend down to their radio again.

Chris glances at the watch. Discovering that it's only eight, she smirks. She has whole two hours to be there and back again. Her distraction is created as one of the guys enters the room, telling the others about his problem. Chris slips out of the door, unnoticed in general chaos.

Throwing on her uniform coat – black with red lining inside – Chris takes a small book of poems she took with her from home.

Then, she takes her flashlight and slips out of the room and off the site – unnoticed by others.

Silently, almost like a wraith herself, Chris flits through the night into the graveyard – over the metal fence, through the headstones, and to that isolated memorial of a young poet. After making sure that nobody followed her, Chris comfortably sits down at the base of the grave, glancing at the portrait of the young man. She still wonders about his story, but for now she is there just to think. And to read some poetry.

"_The living come with grassy tread  
To read the gravestones on the hill;  
The graveyard draws the living still,  
But never anymore the dead.  
_

_The verses in it say and say:  
"The ones who living come today  
To read the stones and go away  
Tomorrow dead will come to stay."  
_

_So sure of death the marbles rhyme,  
Yet can't help marking all the time  
How no one dead will seem to come.  
What is it men are shrinking from?  
_

_It would be easy to be clever  
And tell the stones: Men hate to die  
And have stopped dying now forever.  
I think they would believe the lie."_

Chris stops, slightly cocking her head to the side, before softly continuing,

"Did you hate to die, Neil? Well, I think you did." She chuckles softly to herself. "Look at me, talking with the air now. Am I going crazy?"

She pauses, silently re-reading the lines of the poem.

"You know, I don't even know what I'm doing here, since someday I'm going to return here forever, anyway. I mean, even my English teacher said so. I wonder if the others even thought about this."

The girl pushes her dark hair to the side, that annoying lock slipping forth again.

"Well, tell you what, Neil. I'm going to live my life to the fullest. I'm going to live each day to the fullest. Carpe Diem, huh? Well, I'm going to seize the day. I just need a little help?"

The boy on the photo continues to smile dreamily, apparently off in his own little world. But his dark eyes are twinkling at Chris, as though he hides some secret.

"Huh? What's this you've gotten here?"

Chris feels a square stone right where she is sitting. Curious, she picks it up, carefully unwrapping the heavy old book from its material cover. The title of the book says it all.

"Five Centuries of Verse."

Chris cautiously opens the book to the very first page. At the front she reads the names of the first members of the Dead Poets Society. Then, a few familiar names jump at her.

_"Neil Perry. Todd Anderson. Charlie Dalton. Knox Overstreet."_

Here, the girl grins, and as she reads farther under her flashlight, her grin widens.

_To Be Read At The Opening  
of D. P. S. Meetings _

_I went to the woods because I  
wanted to live deliberately...  
I wanted to live deep and suck  
out all the marrow of life!  
To put to rout all that was not life...  
And not, when I came to die, discover  
that I had not lived..._

_H.D.T_

_D.P.S_

Chris grins crazily, stifling the urge to laugh.

"This is it!" she whispers. "This is it."

She heard the talk that the book had disappeared mysteriously after the last Society was disbanded by the authorities. Now, the mysterious disappearance was a mystery no longer – nobody, in their right minds, would think of searching for the ancient book in the graveyard.

Chris hugs the book tightly, grinning, as she looks up.

"Hey Neil. Thanks. You really helped. Just you wait – we'll be back."

She pauses.

"And we'll be more cautious than ever. I promise it." She grins. "Dead Poetess's honor."

With the book close to her chest, Chris slips out of the graveyard.

There is one more place she needs to go to.

Cautiously slipping down between the roots of the old tree, Chris lands on her feet. She is in the infamous cave – the hideout for the Society. She has found a route to it earlier in the Annual, and decided to check it out. She did not expect to look into the graveyard before that. Nor did she expect to find the old book she wanted to find.

The old cave is still untouched. Chris lowers herself down, discovering one other legacy of the Society – the old kerosene lamp that was standing in the corner. Of course, all the oil had disappeared a long time ago, but it won't be trouble to find some to replace it.

Chris sits on the ground, hugging her knees, as she listens for the old inhabitants of the cave. Her imagination going wild, Chris can still hear laughter of the boys, and hear different voices reading poems – some from the book, and others of the so-called original works. Chris smiles dreamily, not knowing how creepy she looks right now – resembling the long-dead boy, whom she had only seen in the old school photo during her first English class.

The distant bell chimes ten, and Chris silently makes her way towards the walls of Weldon Academy, with a dreamy smile still playing on her lips and 'Five Centuries of Verse' securely tucked into her cloak.

**A/N: the text came from a comprehensive site... which I managed to forget. Up next – the new generation of Dead Poets Society is formed**


	4. four

_**History's Repeat**_

**Disclaimer: see chapter 1 or 2**

**A/N: I decided putting 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' in here since it's a possibility for a school play. Besides, I needed some sort of a subplot, something new – so the school play is a perfect thing for that**

**Oh, and thanks to those who reviewed the first three chapters**

4. Dead Poets Revisited

Chris ducks into her room which she shares with Amy, grinning from ear to ear and bearing with her smells of graveyard and the forest. Amy looks up at her friend with an amused smile.

"There you are, dreamer. Your brother was going to send a search party for you."

"Thanks but no thanks." Chris flings her cloak carelessly on the floor, revealing her treasure with a flourish. "Look what I found."

"'Five Centuries of Verse'?" It takes a few moments for Amy to process the information before she grins. "That's the very same book, right? The one the Poets were using?"

"Exactly." Chris grins, pointing out the names on the list. "Now we can look for certain people on the list here. And we also can add our own names."

"You're not serious." Amy's eyes grow huge, as she snatches the book from the other girl's hands.

"Dead serious," Chris says, twirling around the small room. "Carpe Diem, Amy, Carpe Diem. What other way is better than 'to suck all the marrow out of life'?"

"You're nuts," Amy says with a broad grin. "You've officially gone nuts."

Chris shrugs and flops on her bed, snatching the old book back from her.

"Well, that's a well-known fact of life. I've been nuts ever since I discovered I'm to follow my brother here."

Amy laughs and flops on her own bed as she glances to Chris.

"Anything good in there?"

Chris flips through a few pages and her grin widens.

"Robert Frost," she announces before continuing to read the poem out loud,

"'_These pools that, though in forests, still reflect  
The total sky almost without defect,  
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,  
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,  
And yet not out by any brook or river,  
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on. _

_The trees that have it in their pent-up buds  
To darken nature and be summer woods  
Let them think twice before they use their powers  
To blot out and drink up and sweep away  
These flowery waters and these watery flowers  
From snow that melted only yesterday.'"_

"Uh-huh," Amy says quietly. "I always did love forests."

"Well, now you'll get a chance to visit it," Chris says.

"Hatcheson!" a teacher calls through the wall. Chris sighs.

"Unfortunately, the rest will have to be informed tomorrow," she whispers.

In the morning, Chris gathers her gaggle of friends, and their eyes light up at the news.

"No, seriously?" John says quietly, his eyes glinting. "Five Centuries of Verse?"

"The very same," Chris whispers softly, her own eyes lighting up. "You guys, do you know what that means?"

"Yeah, and I don't really like that idea," Julia says, as she moves away from the group. The rest shrug and dismiss the girl as nothing more than another girl.

"Well, what do you say, ladies and gents," Chris whispers quietly, quickly glancing around. "I say it's high time a certain Society made their return."

"I second that," Alex whispers.

"Motion is moved and seconded," George whispers, as the rest of them snicker. "Now, who's in?"

"I'm in," Chris, Alex, Amy, John, Rojer, and Ana chime together. Exchanging the looks, the group laughs quietly.

"All right then, we need an unofficial leader and a set of rules-"

"We need the leader, but we don't need the rules." Amy rejoins. "Except the one that all members are sworn to secrecy."

"Too right," Rojer says. "I really don't want us to repeat history."

The others laugh uneasily, and shudder, remembering how the last Society had fared.

"Say, anyone found out about Neil Perry or others?" Amy whispers quietly. Chris, intrigued, leans in.

"I did," John says. "All the gang were over-achievers but a certain Mr Charlie Dalton got expelled from the school after his famous 'Call From God" prank. Neil Perry had committed suicide, for which his group and the English teacher of the time, a Mr John Keating, were bearing full blame. One of the members of that Society, a Mr Richard Cameron, had given all the group away the morning after Neil's suicide. Same day, the group was dispelled, and a Mr Charlie Dalton expelled from school, as I said before."

"Well, that's more than we knew anyways," Chris sighs. "At least we know the reason to why Neil's grave is separated from the others. Have you noticed, that the school still doesn't approve of suicides?"

"Yeah, it says so in the Rules of Conduct. Quote, No suicides are permitted, end quote, or something like it," Rojer jokes. The rest laugh then become quiet.

"So, we need more time to discuss that thing," Chris says, as the bell rings. "How does the study session in our room sound?"

The others nod as they pick up their textbooks.

"Oh, jolly, Chem again," Nikkie moans, as the rest of the group push the girl lightly, laughing. The tense atmosphere around the new Poets is dispersed – for now.

Miss Richards is sitting on her desk, as the group scrambles to get the seats. The book on her lap is rather familiar, but they don't get the title until they take the seats.

"Everyone please take a copy of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' from the shelf, and take your seats."

Chris's eyes light up, and the others shiver uncomfortably.

"The rumor is that this play is jinxed just as much as the infamous 'Macbeth'." The teacher continues. "From what I have heard so far, the actor who was picked for the role of Puck after the performance of the play committed suicide the following night – and that rumor had begun since the last time the play was here, the year 1959, after a young actor playing the role had committed suicide the night after the play."

The students shudder and the teacher grins. "Well, we're here to disperse that rumor and the so-called curse. Hence, I'm giving you the choice of the roles. I already know those of you who are quite capable of acting, so listen carefully."

Miss Richards proceeds to call out several names. Chris keeps her ears up. She wants a role and it doesn't matter which one.

"… Alex Perry and Chris Hatcheson. Now, pick your roles, guys, I know you can find the right one."

Chris grins in relief and goes over to the teacher's desk.

"Ah, you're the brave one," Miss Richards says with a smile as Chris points the role everyone else before her is avoiding. The Puck. "Thus we'll check it out, huh, Chris?"

"That's right, Captain," Chris grins, as she goes back to her seat.

From his place behind her, Alex nudges her slightly. Chris turns to him.

"Are you mad?" he whispers worriedly. "Want to get yourself killed?"

Chris's grin is unearthly, and Alex shudders.

"I've too much things to do to cut it short, Alex," Chris whispers quietly. "Like destroying this idiotic rumor about a play. I mean, this is nuts."

"You are nuts," Alex responds quietly.

"That is a matter of life," Chris states before the teacher calls for them to begin reading the play.

The evening in Chris's and Amy's room, the group is discussing their play and the Society.

"I say we let Chris be our leader," Ana whispers. "She was the one who found the book, after all."

"Wait a second," Alex says, going to the door. A few squeals from behind the closed door is heard as Alex unceremoniously pushes it open and a sound of fleeing feet right after them.

"That wasn't very safe to talk in." he chides Ana quietly.

"Thankfully, they have no idea of what we're talking about,"

Chris whispers, as she continues to sketch another picture. "Anyone seconds the suggestion?"

"Seconded," John says quietly. The others all nod. George sighs before nodding with the rest of them.

"Okay, Chris, you're IT," Amy says as the rest of them, Chris included, giggle.

"Thanks a lot, Amy. Okay, the first meeting is tonight, we meet outside at ten."

"That's after lightouts," a more careful Rojer points out.

"So what?" Chris whispers defiantly.

"So nothing," Rojer retorts quietly. "When are we going to sleep?"

"You and your sleep. You can sleep in on the meeting, we'll wake you up. No other objections?" Chris asks sweetly.

The others shake their heads as in no.

"Brilliant. Now, who else had managed to get themselves stuck in the 'cursed play'?" she asks, and grins as the rest of her friends groan –all of them but John are in.

A/N: up next - the first meeting of the Dead Poets


	5. five

**History's repeat**

**Disclaimer: See chapter 1**

**A/N: well, here is chapter five, and the first meeting of the modern society...now, I know I promised not to rehash the dialogues, buta few phrasesof it still come from the movie. **

5. Midnight Dream

When the bell of Weldon's church chimes midnight, the grounds are still. Everyone is asleep for a long time now, but the seven students. One of them sneaks out of their doors, with her room mate at her heels. Two others soon follow. With some distance, another three sneak out.

The last one, their leader, carefully makes sure the doors to their rooms are firmly shut, and that everyone has what they need. She snuffles a large book more comfortably at her hands and dashes silently after the others.

They all gather near the entrance of the cave, through none but the leader know it. The leader slips in the cave silently, before grabbing one of her unsuspecting followers and pulling him down with her.

"Argh! What the fuck?"

The teen vigorously brushes himself off, while the girl laughs along with the others, who had by now found their way in without her help.

"Dammit, Chris, that's not even funny," the boy grumbles, fumbling for his flashlight. When he finally finds it, Chris's dark hair, all pulled back in a ponytail but for that fringe, and her dark merry eyes flash back at him.

"What, Alex, didn't like the dunking?" she asks sweetly, and the teen just sighs with exasperation.

The others have quieted by now, all settling themselves around. Chris gives an involuntary motion with her shoulders – the cave suddenly was cramped. When she was here alone, just the forthnight ago, it seemed huge.

"Well, then, let us begin?" Rojer voiced.

"Ah, yes." Chris rose to her feet, holding the old book with her. "I hereby commence the meeting of the Dead Poets Society open."

"Whew. Now that all the darkest secrets are almost out of the bag…" Nikkie comments lightly, and Chris swats her on the arm.

"I wasn't finished yet," she says. "Here's this entry that says: To be read at the opening of the DPS meetings. So here it is:

'We went to the woods because we wanted to live deliberately… we want to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life!"

"Seconded," Alex grins. He is sprawled next to Chris, who is happy to deliver another elbow in his ribs. "Ow, what's that for?"

"Don't interrupt," Chris says before finishing, "… To put route to all the marrow of life, And to discover that we have not lived.' Now, these meetings will be conducted by myself and my fellow Poets. Anyone not wishes to read aloud?"

"No," Rojer says after a moment's silence. The others nod vigorously.

"All right then. Roj, you want to start?"

"Sure, why not?" Rojer stands up, flicks an imaginary dust from his coat and takes the proferred book from Chris. "O Captain, my captain, poem by Mr Wilts."

The rest laugh, since Rojer makes a deliberate mistake in the name. Rojer strikes a pose, a book in one hand, and his other hand on his hip.

"_O, captain! My captain! Our fearful trip is done,_

_The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,_

_The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,_

_While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring…"_

Rojer pauses for awhile, flipping through the book. "And then he goes on and on in the same vein for three more verses."

The guys and girls laugh and Alex snatches the book. "My turn. Ahh, here's another poem we didn't get to hear till the end.

_To The Virgins, To Make Much Of Time_

_Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,_

_Old Time is still a-flying;_

_And this same flower that smiles today,_

_To-morrow will be dying._

_The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,_

_The higher he's a-getting;_

_The sooner will his race be run,_

_And nearer he's to setting._

_That age is best, which is the first,_

_When youth and blood are warmer;_

_But being spent, the worse, and worst_

_Times still succeed the former._

_Then be not coy, but use your time,_

_And while ye may, go marry;_

_For having lost but once your prime,_

_You may forever tarry."_

He takes a slight bow and passes the book to next person.

With a dreamy smile, Chris watches her fellow Poets and Poetesses, as they, one after another, read poems. When the book returns to her, she closes it.

"I think I'll pass. We have to get back now, we still have the play to revise. Any stray Fairy around?"

"I play one," Ana curtsies lightly, and Chris grins and bows mockingly. She knows that Ana is suited for the role – she is very small indeed.

As the group goes back to school, Chris softly starts reciting her lines. Then even she falls silent, as they ran across the empty school yard.

Stopping for a moment, Chris turns towards the graveyard, and shudders, as she sees a mist covering the grounds. An almost unnoticeable movement in the graveyard makes Chris shiver, and she stops.

"Chris? What is it?" Alex whispers. He had noticed Chris had stopped, and turned back to step up to her.

"Maybe my imagination. I thought I saw somebody there," she confesses.

Alex shakes his head and takes her by her elbow.

"Come on, you're just tired after this thing. A sleep will do you good."

With a brief nod, Chris follows Alex, but not without a backward glance at the foggy grounds.

_He does not remember who he is. His surroundings are dark, so it must be night. He is watching the seven figures dash towards the building which he knows is Weldon Academy. One of the figures stops to look back and the other returns to lead it back to their companions._

_So, the Academy still is the same, he muses silently. They even have the Society on place. I wonder, are those guys aware of the trouble they are capable of stirring up?_

_He sharply turns to look at the sky. This group is much bolder than they have been, since the sky lightens with dawn. The mists evaporate from the ground, and he disappears._

Chris shudders. Amy is long since asleep, but Chris can't do the same. She always was uneasy about a night, and the tiny fact that she had stayed out of bed a tad longer than was necessary had spooked her sufficiently.

Shrugging off the covers, Chris sits up, and walks in the direction of the library. Knowing she would be unable to sleep any more, she dresses properly before she leaves, the blouse, the skirt, etcetera. When she is almost there, she runs into Alex.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Alex whispers quietly. Chris nods.

"Yeah. I always did hate the night. Now it's that Society that's spooking me."

"I know what you mean." Alex casually slings his arm around Chris's shoulders, as they find themselves in the trophy room. "I had a hard time falling asleep without extra light."

"You, Alexander Perry, afraid of dark?" Chris snorts with disbelief. Alex gives a slight laugh.

"I can ask you the same, plus that ti-ny fact that you're our fearless leader who picked a jinxed role with a suicide toll on it. Which one of us is crazy?"

Chris pushes her dark hair away from her eyes and nestles close to Alex.

"Don't remind me about that. I have never acted before, so I have no idea why Miss Richards thinks I'll make a good Puck."

"That's a part of mischief management, this Society of yours is," Alex says. Chris laughs softly, before glancing up at him.

"I… I guess we should head back before anyone finds us here."

Alex looks at her curiously – he can see that their fearless leader is blushing lightly in the grey dawn of the day.

"You're right," he hears his voice agreeing with her. "You'll be all right?"

Chris nods and disappears in her dorm.

Alex leans on the wall of the trophy room, giving the room a hard glance. Then he follows Chris's example – a detention won't be a good thing, he thinks to himself. Especially not in early morning.

**A/N: okay, well… this idea came as I though about a book I've been reading a few months ago, so I thought, why not? I mean, I'll see where this leads… eventually.**


	6. six

_**History's repeat**_

**Disclaimer: see chapters 1 and 2**

**A/N: practice and suspicious disappearance. Anyone cares for a guess as to who it is?**

5. Disappearance

The day dawns bright and clear. Chris has to shield her eyes, like the sun hurts them. Of course, it will hurt, she chastens herself silently, letting her long dark hair shield her eyes from the sun. You have adjusted to the night too well. Now you pay the consequence.

It was about a week since their first meeting. The Dead Poets have met twice since, and twice since did Chris feel the chill of the graveyard that wasn't supposed to be there.

'Isn't supposed to be there,' Chris wonders silently, as she shields her eyes against the morning sun.

She leaves the puzzle for later, as Amy is sitting up in her bed, blearily putting her own hand up to look at Chris.

"Good morning, Cap'n. Can't sleep again?" she asks, as she swings her legs down on the floor. "Ohh, the floor is cold!"

"Of course, it will be cold," Chris replies calmly. "It's September after all. Soon it will be colder."

"No kidding." Amy shivers and pulls on her winter uniform, complete with the black-and-red cloak. "I hate cold."

Chris smirks.

"Wonder why, summer girl."

"Just because I come from Florida where it's hot even now, doesn't give you any right to insult me about it," Amy retorts.

"Well, of course, YOU have lived all your life in Toronto. Big surprise here." She shrewdly takes in the look of Chris's attire.

"Were you sleepwalking with Alex again?" she asks finally.

"I'm not sleepwalking, I'm just having trouble sleeping lately," Chris retorts.

"And what about Alex?" Amy prompts.

"What about him?" Chris already has her nose buried in the copy of the play and tries valiantly ignoring her. Amy crosses her hands.

"Well, there are rumors that the two of you often haunt the Trophy room or the library at night. What exactly are you doing there?"

"Nothing. I doubt I even saw him lately. Least of all there." Chris huffs quietly.

Amy's eyes glint mischievously.

"Ohh, our Puck's in lo-o-ve…" she clasps her hands to her heart and twirls, having stood up earlier.

"Amy!" Chris flings out her foot, well-timing it, and Amy trips on it in mid-twirl, dramatically gasping and 'fainting'. Chris laughs, as Amy sits up from the floor.

"Well, no wonder they let you play Helena," Chris taunts, mussing Amy's hair up. "You're a hopeless twerp."

Amy cries in mock outrage before sending Chris to the floor.

"You – you – you – mischief maker!" she stammers, while Chris watches her gleefully. "You – you Puck!"

"Oh, I'm wounded!" Chris dramatically puts her hand over her heart and catches eyes of Alex, who had appeared in their doorways along with the rest of the Poets. Alex smirks. "Ah, fair lady, you're hurting me!"

A burst of laughter from behind Amy makes the girl wheel around, as she confronts the rest of the group.

"What?" she demands hotly. "We do have the dress recital today, right? Can't a lady enter her role?"

"I'd say this is way too early for that," George says with amusement. "Morning, sis. I see your room mate isn't exactly a morning person?"

Chris shakes her head dejectedly. "I'm afraid so," she sighs.

The others watch them in amusement.

"Hey, we have the practice today after classes, don't we?" Ana asks, waving her script in one of her hands. The rest laugh.

"That's for us nobles," Alex says with a groan. "But the Fairies are to have their lines ready to go for tomorrow. Eight PM sharp."

"Okay." Chris feels distracted, and she glances outside. 'I know just a perfect place for my practice, they won't be able to find me there,' she thinks silently.

Alex glances sharply at Chris, who looks out of the room's window. Her silhouette is trimmed by the light, and Alex looks at her more closely than before. The black-haired teen feels small hairs n his neck standing up as he notices another, ethereal silhouette hovering right next to Chris, his hand lying on her shoulder. Chris's smile is dreamy yet again and this scares Alex more than his first public performance ever can.

_He stands beside the dark-haired girl, the Puck. The girl is in the crowd of her Poets, but he knows, that right now the girl is alone. He soon learns her name. _

_Then his own memories return – piece by piece, and for now they stop. He sees other boys in the room. Cameron sits on the bed with his head in the book, Todd scrawls something in his notepad, the others are whispering about plans. The haze disappears and he is left with a group of teenagers and the Puck. _

_Time for some mischief, my friend, he thinks with a dreamy smile on his face, as he vanishes in the air._

Chris shudders. She thinks she heard someone whispering, 'Time for some mischief, my friend', in her ear. Then, it is cold that lances throughout her body.

Odd, she thinks dimly. Okay, we'll go by the… script…

Alex gives a worried glance towards Chris, who is sitting on the table otherwise buried under the props. She has that faraway look – again. Her dark hair is loose, and although her head is buried in the text, Alex sees her dark eyes flash up every now and then.

"Alex. Alex! Your cue." Amy hisses softly.

Alex shakes himself off. This isn't the first time now that he catches himself looking at Chris. But yes, the play…

Chris grins, carelessly leaning back on her elbows, as she watches 'Helena' and 'Hermia' argue over the incident. Once they'll be done, it would be her turn. But for now, a bit of studying will do.

Alex watches the 'Puck' shrewdly. Chris avoids his wayward slash of 'sword', as 'Demetrius' thinks he is following 'Lysander' in the woods.

"Follow my voice," Chris taunts, as she ducks another of his slashes.

Going behind the scenes, he watches George rushing on.

"Where art thou, Lysander? Coward!"

"Coward yourself," Chris retorts lightly, as she twirls in the smoke the others have just released. "Give up?"

Another wild slash of the 'sword', thankfully blunt.

"Never."

"Follow me, then, to the plainer ground," Chris replies, as she lightly skips from the stage. The dreamy look on her face returned long since the beginning of practice, and that is what scares Alex the most. Something is really, really wrong with Chris.

Chris is now on stage, along with Rojer, who – as Oberon – berates her for confusion she created. Alex watches her sharply, as she replies;

"Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.

Did you not tell me I should know the man

By the Athenian garments he had on?

And so far blameless proves my enterprise,

That I have 'nointed the Athenian's eyes;

And so far am I glad it so did sort

As this their jangling I esteem a sport."

Alex frowns. Chris looks like she is enjoying herself – and why shouldn't she? It's a comedy after all. Something is bothering him, but he doesn't understand what it is.

Then, as 'Oberon' exits, a scary smile dances on Chris's lips as she glances around the stage:

"Up and down, up and down,

I will lead them up and down:

I am fear'd in field and town:

Goblin, lead them up and down.

Here comes one."

The rest of the practice, Chris is in a dreamy state. After her final speech, Alex is almost afraid to approach her, but he does.

"Chris?"

No response. He slightly touches her arm and the girl jumps, her dark eyes wildly looking at him then relaxing.

"Oh, it's you, Alex."

"You okay?" he asks, giving her a once-over. The girl nods briefly.

"Yes, I'm fine, it's just after practice." She shrugs her arm away slightly and gives him the dreamy grin they had seem all too often on her face. "I think I just need to sleep it off."

"Okay, then."

Alex watches her go, but an uneasy feeling does not make her departure 'okay'.

_He finds it easy to take control of his role. After the boy lets her go, he and the Puck leave the building, and he gives a small smile, the one that mirrors on the Puck's face as she steps into the night._

"_Up and down, up and down,_

_I will lead you up and down,_

_I am fear'd through field and town,_

_I will lead you up and down,"_

_He whispers quietly, as the Puck gives a light twirl and moves with slight hesitation towards the forest on the grounds of the Academy. He gives a satisfied smile. _

'_Now the real game begins.'_

A/N: Well, well, well... what have we there...


	7. seven

_**History's repeat**_

**Summary: it's a year 2004 and the DPS is reformed – but the history is about to repeat itself**

**Disclaimer: see chapters 1 and 2**

7. In the Woods

Alex glances around sharply. He is certain that Chris had disappeared in the woods the moment she was left alone.

"Anyone seen Chris lately?" Alex ventures tentatively, only to attract everyone in his vicinity.

"No," Rojer says cautiously. "Why?"

Alex shrugs.

"I'm going for a stroll," he says. "Anyone wants to join me?"

The others hesitate and exchange uncomfortable looks.

"Sorry, Alex, we'll pass it. We'll check if Chris is back yet,"

George says finally. "She could have just gone back to the dorm."

"True," Alex agrees, but something just doesn't feel right about this whole affair.

"Well, just get back before the lights-out, okay," Ana says uncomfortably. "Let's get into light, ladies and gentlemen, this dark place makes me uncomfortable."

The others agree with uneasy laughs and Alex wanders towards the forest while the others go back to the Academy.

Once he is in the forest, Alex is silently berating himself for not thinking about bringing a flashlight with him.

'But then again, I didn't think that Chris would be stupid enough to go for a midnight stroll,' he reasons silently with himself.

Up ahead, he sees a familiar figure lightly jumping over a brook and twirling on the fallen leaves, her open coat and loose hair flying around her. She seems to be oblivious to everything but herself.

"Chris?" He calls. The girl ignores him, so he tries louder.

"Chris?"

This time, the girl starts at her name, glances around wildly and dashes into the forest.

"Darn. What's gotten into her?" Alex mutters quietly, as he runs after the fleeing girl. "Hey, Chris, wait up!"

_He is now in control of the Puck. This is his role, first and foremost, and now that he is in the forest – the real forest, not the stage – it is even easier for him to hide. He jumps over a small brook and twirls on place. He haven't felt this alive in a long time. He almost forgot the feeling._

"_Chris?"_

_He starts and glances around, as he notices the pursuer. It's that kid again. The one who have been watching the Puck for a long time. _

_He turns around and dashes into the forest. The other is right behind him, now jumping the brook, now breaking a twig._

_This must be a dream._

_We are the music-makers_

_And we are the dreamers of dreams,_

_Waving by lone sea-brakers,_

_And sitting by desolate streams _

Alex glances around wildly, having lost sight of Chris for a brief moment. He spins around, as an errant mass of leaves snuffles behind him.

'Damn, she's fast. How did she get behind me?'

He stills for a second, as he hears a similar noise from his right.

'What's going on?'

"Chris? Where are you?"

Alex turns around, as he notices an errant swish of a familiar cloak behind the dark trees. He follows her.

'This turns to madness. This is just a dream.'

_World-losers and world-forsakers,_

_On whom the pale moon gleams:_

_Yet we are the movers and shakers_

_Of the world forever, it seems._

_He is now terrified. The familiar feeling of being trapped is now encircling the Puck, as well. He glances around for escape._

_The forest ends. He is now almost on the edge of it. There is a rise – not big enough to fall, but enough to escape. Yet, he still awaits for the reprieve, for the exit – there is always a choice, isn't there… _

'_I'm the one in control', he reminds both himself and the Puck, who is now blinded by panic. 'You can do nothing but what I tell you to do.'_

**'God, I'm going insane', the Puck thinks with panic. 'Somebody, please help me.'**

**The Puck tries to breathe. When failing to succeed she gulps.**

**'This is a dream. This is just a bad dream.'**

_We, in the ages lying_

_In the buried past of the earth,_

_Built Nineveh with our sighing,_

_And Babel itself with our mirth_

Alex glances around himself. He is lost again.

'The worst part is that I lost the sight of Chris again,' he thinks silently, glancing around.

A squeak of twig and a light splash is all the warning he gets, as a shadow flies in the moonlight.

Alex starts and darts after her without letting her go this time.

"Chris, wait!"

_And o'erthrew them with prophesying,_

_To the old of the new world's worth;_

_For each age is a dream that is dying,_

_Or one that is coming to birth._

_He is on him again. Now he feels trapped again. No way out – as before._

_He glances around wildly. The cliff is just there, behind him. _

_There. _

'_Now, to get away from him,' he thinks. He doesn't think about it anymore – he is in panic. So is the Puck._

_A foot slips down the rise, and a startled scream rises from the Puck. _

_Then, the sun is rising. He had lost the count of time. He has to flee. Somehow he lost the count of time._

_So he flees back. The fog over the graveyard intensifies for a moment before admitting him back. Then the fog disappears, like it never was there._

_If we shadows have offended,_

_Think but this, and all is mended,_

_That you have but slumber'd here_

_While these visions have appeared…_

A startled scream finally attracts Alex's attention, and he dashes towards the cliff.

"Chris?"

**She finally gains control over herself, and barely manages to grab the edge of the cliff, before familiar voice nears her.**

"**Alex?" She chokes out, before making sure her voice is firm. "Alex!"**

Alex kneels at the edge of the cliff and looks down. Chris is there, her hands barely gripping the stray rock she managed to catch.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He demands, as he grips Chris by her elbows and hauls her out of the pit. Chris collapses next to him, sobbing.

He softens immediately.

"Don't you dare scare me like that again," he says quietly, pulling the girl into embrace. She nods and finally looks at him.

"How did you know?" Chris asks, her voice strangely hoarse.

Alex shrugs.

"You were acting all weird on the stage. Way too realistic for my liking," He says nonchalantly. "And I had a strong suspicion that you won't go straight back to your room, like the others suggested."

Chris gives a final sniffle, as she grins at him weakly.

"Thanks for coming after me," she offers timidly.

Alex grins, and gets up.

"Let's get you back before your brother sends a search party for the both of us," He says quietly.

Chris now gives an uncertain grin and a final sniff.

The two of them leave the place, going back towards the Academy, just as the sun's rays touch the crown of trees behind them.


	8. eight

**History's repeat**

**Disclaimer: see chapters 1 and 2**

**A/N: All right, this story is almost complete - all I'm left to do is to figure out the two remaining chapters and an epilogue... Hence, I'm not going to post for awhile, for I'm still writing those chapters. But please, bear with me, those who are reading it - I'm going to finish this one off - eventually **

8. The Aftermath

"Where the hell have you been?"

Rojer looks askance at his two fellow Poets, who finally make an entrance to Chris's and Amy's rooms, just before the dawn. Chris looks slightly worse for wear – her dark hair mussed up and her clothes slightly dirty. A leaf is stuck in Alex's black hair, and a light smudge is on his pale skin.

"We took a – a stroll," Alex answers, seeing a look of slight fear on Chris's face.

"A stroll at midnight, huh?" George looks at both of them askance, mirroring Rojer's look. The others are sceptical and silent.

Chris leans back in Alex's embrace, slightly pale.

"They would never believe us if we do tell them the truth," she whispers softly. "Who would ever believe that ghosts exist?"

"I didn't up until tonight," Alex whispers back. "You want me to field it?"

Chris nods quietly and lets her eyes close. The past night had taken its toll on both her and Alex.

As soon as Chris fell asleep, the others exchange mildly amused looks. With a sigh, George gives a slight nod.

"Let's get out of here. We'll talk about this at the next 'meeting'. When, Alex?"

"Let's do that the day after tomorrow," Alex suggests. "At about noon. Yes, I know it's broad daylight, but I honestly don't think Chris is ready to face the dark forest again for now."

"All righty then, the day after tomorrow it is," Ana says lightly and yawns widely. "I'm off to bed, coming, Nikkie?"

Nikkie gives a silent nod and leaves with Ana. Alex gently deposits Chris on her bed, while she murmurs softly and gives a hesitant smile in her sleep. With a soft smile of his own, Alex leaves after George, returning to their room.

As the other Poets trickle away, Amy stares at her sleeping roommate with slight amazement.

'I wonder, what happened in there that she is possibly so afraid of?' she thinks silently before drifting off to sleep herself.

Next morning, Chris looks a bit jumpy, as she sits down beside Alex. George raises an eyebrow lightly at this recent development – normally Chris would sit between Amy and Ana, but today it seems things changed.

The others all noticed the change.

"Wha's up?" Rojer asks with his mouth full.

"The forest's up," Chris answers with her voice shaking slightly. "And don't talk with your mouth full."

"'ine." Rojer finishes chewing and grins at her. "Now okay to talk?"

Chris nods, a small smile appearing on her face.

"Yes, that's much better."

"So, the play?" Amy interrupts. "Have any of you guys learned your lines yet? Helena's got quite a mouthful."

Chris's mischievous smile is back. This time, it's quite real.

"I'm going to enjoy this," she whispers to Alex, as she furtively glances around.

"No jokes around here, please, Miss Puck," Alex answers her in equal whisper.

Chris's face is absolutely glowing with mischief.

"Guys, stay away from Chris for awhile," Alex says calmly. "I don't like the way she looks."

The group of Poets laugh, with Chris joining in.

"_Yet but three? Come one more._

_Two of both kinds make up four._

_Here she comes, curst and sad._

_Cupid is a knavish lad,_

_Thus t o make poor females mad."_

Chris's boisterous voice is on the stage, as the girl waltzes over her friends, who are pretending to be 'asleep'. She is fully in control of her role, as the Puck admires her handiwork.

'Better me in control of myself than a dead poet in control of me,' she thinks with barely contained mirth. 'and to think I actually liked it – until Alex destroyed the illusion. I don't know what to think of that anymore.'

"Shit. The teacher gave us incredibly difficult test," George says after a pair which the boys and girls had apart. George, Alex, and Rojer were stuck with chemistry class, while Chris and the Co took drama.

"And what exactly was so difficult?" Chris asks with mischievous smile.

"That goddamn projector!" Rojer mumbles, the tips of his ears going extremely red. "It was showing… ah… certain… ah… chemistry…"

By the end of that sentence, the girls are dying from laughter, and the boys are sporting extremely red faces.

Ana and Chris walk in the woods. Chris is much calmer about the woods, even through her experience with the ghost is not past yet. In fact, Chris is exuberated. She waves a random stick around, reciting her lines.

"How now, fairy? Whither wanders ye?"

Ana is trying to gather her thoughts around.

"Over hills, over dale, through bush, through briar… man, I'm never going to learn these things. How can you remember them so easily?"

Chris stabs wildly into the air with that scary smile back on her face.

"Well, I DO want to act. I LIKE to act. What's wrong with it?

'But room, Fairy, here comes Oberon!"

Amy shakes her head.

"You went nuts, Chris."

Chris gives her a cheeky grin as she happily twirls in the leaves, raising a whirlwind of them around her. Her cape and hair are flying around her.

"I never said I was sane in the first place. Do you know when the person is sane?"

"Yes, when they act normally, and when they don't scare their buddies half to death," Ana retorts.

"Define 'normal' please," Chris retaliates, her grin on place.

"See ya later, I gotta study those lines."

Chris gives a final twirl and dashes towards the dorms, her whole figure full of life.

"…But room, Fairy, here comes Oberon!"

Ana shakes her head in amusement and follows Chris in more serene manner.

_A presence of a long-dead seventeen-year-old boy watches the duo from the shadows with a dreamy smile to match that of Chris's lighting up his face._


	9. nine

**History's Repeat**

**Disclaimer: See chater one**

**A/N: Chapter nine to my story. **

09. Well – Timed Rescue

_"If we shadows have offended,  
Think but this, and all is mended,  
That you have but slumber'd here  
While these visions did appear._

_And this weak and idle theme,  
No more yielding but a dream,  
Gentles, do not reprehend:  
if you pardon, we will mend:_

_And, as I am an honest Puck,  
If we have unearned luck  
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,  
We will make amends ere long;_

_Else the Puck a liar call;  
So, good night unto you all.  
Give me your hands, if we be friends,  
And Robin shall restore amends."_

The curtain falls as Chris solemly steps back from the stage. Her last soliloquy is delivered, the play is finished. The cheers and whoops of the audience are deafening and Chris is her old mischievous self in the instant.

"Cursed Play, huh?" she asks, nudging Alex.

"You still got to survive this night," Alex responds lightly. "And where did you go last night?"

"Out for a stroll," Chris replies, her look dreamy.

"Alex rolls his eyes.

"Don't tell me you went back to that grave again Chris. There's something creepy about it."

"You just don't like the dark," Chris teases lightly.

"No, I like the dark plenty, else I wouldn't be…" Alex catches himself before he says 'in the Society', instead saying, "It's not just it, I think there's something wrong with that grave."

Chris sighs. She did feel that someone was watching her there – but that feeling was more of someone watching over her rather than watching her.

'This is so confusing…'

A spirit haunts the year's last hours  
Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers.  
To himself he talks.

_He is slighrtly surprised that the Puck is able to detect his presence the second time. He is standing leaning on the wall of auditorium, right next to the confused girl, who now is alone._

'You're here, aren't you?'

_'Yeah.' The reply is calm and silent – only the Puck can hear it._

'I'm Chris. The Puck is only a role.' The girl says to him silently.

_His eyes glint with mischief._

_'It may be a role, but it's the one one needs to act,' he responds flippantly._

For at eventide, listening earnestly,  
At his work you may hear him sob and sigh  
In the walks;

Chris glances sharply in the direction of the 'voice'. She can see him now, something she couldn't earlier – he is standing right next to her.

_He is wearing his costume, his Welton black-and-red cape and a wreath of twigs and leaves. His face is lit up by the familiar smile of mischief._

'I think you took that thing way too literally,' she says finally, glancing shyly down. The seventeen-year-old shadow gives her a sharp glance, as he studies her intently.

_'Did I have a choice?' he finally asks so softly that she thinks it's her imagination._

Earthward he bowseth the heavy stalks  
Of the moldering flowers.

'Well… I… you should have told your father…' she stammers.

_His eyes glitter with bitterness._

_'My father…' He heaves a sigh. 'He just didn't understand me. And I couldn't very well explain it to him…' He pauses and glances up at her. '…could I?'_

Her dark eyes are slightly sad as she gazes up at him.

'Well, maybe you could. If you thought you could.' It's her turn to sigh now. 'That's what the Carpe Diem is about – not living right to the minute like you did, but considering what is ahead of you instead of this very second, this very moment…' she pauses. 'I guess you couldn't do that, huh?'

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower  
Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;  
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,  
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

_The shadow youth runs his hand through his dark hair in frustration._

_'I don't know, Miss Puck. It really is way too complicated. One minute you have all those possibilities open up to you – like a dream – and the next minute they are snatched away so sharply that you hardly know how to breathe…' He cocks his head to one side, giving a rueful chuckle that goes almost unnoticed. 'I guess I could wait till my old man died and then forge ahead with the acting. But I just took a decision nobody else but me could take. You think I made a mistake?'_

The air is damp, and hush'd, and close  
As a sick man's room when he taketh repose  
An hour before death;

Chris sighs in exasperation.

'That's the thing in talking with shadows,' she giggles silently. 'If you only were… ah… more real… I'd give you a piece of my mind and drag you to talk with your dad. Unfortunately, it's waving fists after battle lost…'

_'Yeah, you're right here,' the shadow agrees as he frowns lightly._

My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves  
Ath the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,  
And the breath  
Of the fading edges of box beneath,  
And the year's last rose.

They are silent until she asks one impossible question;

'What was the point of killing yourself that night, huh?"

_The only thing he can answer is,_

_'You know what? I don't know that anymore.'_

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower  
Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;  
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,  
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

There is something very unsettling in the night. A cold chill passes through Chris, and it's not because of the shadow that is standing right next to her. Something terrible is about to happen – and she is not sure she wants to face it.

_'Look out!'_

The silent cry is well-timed, as Chris throws herself on the ground. The errant bullet passes through the shadow but it cannot hurt that which is not there. Cautiously raising her head, Chris notices a shadow darting back into the cover of the trees.

'A cursed play, huh?' she mutters so that the shadow could understand. 'More like a maniac who wants to kill everyone with this role on loose…'

The second bullet's whine is echoed with more precision. Chris cries out sharply, not really knowing why. Somehow, she feels light-headed, and light… way too light for being there.

_She is in the forest – but when she passes straight thorugh the trees, she gasps in mild surprise as she realises what happened._

_The one who had been shooting at her had succeeded._

So where was she?

Glancing around, The Puck realised she was at the grounds of Welton Academy. It was very dark, so the girl guessed it was night. Walking down the familiar road, the girl saw a fair haired boy sitting on the bridge, a table headset lying quite innocently next to him. The boy heaved a sigh of mild distress.

"Todd?" The second voice was all too familiar, and the Puck spun around to face him. He was quite alive and breathing, as he strode towards the other teen, glancing down at him in concern. "What's wrong?"

The quiet boy, whose name was Todd, glanced up at him.

"Oh. It's you." He was silent, before offering timidly, "it's my birthday today."

"Your birthday?" The dark-haired boy sounded genuinely surprised. "Happy Birthday, then."

"Thanks." The Puck noticed that Todd didn't sound too enthusiastic.

The other boy's eyes finally landed on the desk set lying next to Todd.

"Wait a sec… Isn't it the same desk set your parents gave you for your last birthday?" He asked in amazement. The Puck perked up, giving the boys her full attention.

Todd sighed again.

"Yeah they gave it to me last year… and the year before that… and the year before that year…" His soft voice actually sounded sarcastic. "I honestly don't think they even know what I'd like to get for my birthday…" The blonde sighed. "Sometimes I think they completely forget about me."

"Hmmm…" The other teen had now picked the desk set up and was twirling it in his hands. The Puck and Todd were both watching him with amusement and curiosity, respectively. "Say, Todd… This is the best deck set I've seen for years."

"Yeah? And how so?"

"We-ell…" The teenager gently drew his hand by the board's side. "It's got great manoeuvrability… and it's great value, too. Come on, Todd, not every teen receives such a grand deck set every birthday. You're very, very lucky." He handed the deck to the blonde. "Forget your parents for the moment, not like they were thinking about this thing."

"Oh yeah? How?" the Puck watched the two boys with curiosity, as one teen handed the deck set to another.

"I bet ya anything this thing can fly really, really well. Come on, Todd, show what it's really worth!"

The Puck gasped in delight as the boy considered things for a second and then threw it down. Papers, scissors, and other things the set contained – not to mention the set itself – flew all the way down to the ground, flapping the wooden boards almost like wings.

"World's first flying unmanned deck set," he cheered. The other boy laughed until he had to grab the stone fence for balance.

"That's great. Oh and don't you worry about the deck set. I'm sure you'll receive another one next year."

The other boy gave a timid laugh.

"You're probably right." He shivered. "Man, it's cold. Let's get inside, huh?"

"Sure."

The two boys went into the building, the dark haired teen happily muttering the lines from the script he was carrying in the pocket of his coat.

_The script the Puck knows off by heart now._

_'If we shadows had offended…' she murmurs softly, following the boys to the ground. 'Think but this and all is mended… Well, Miss Robin, it certainly seems like you have to mend a few things here…'_

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,  
Tears from the depth of some divine despair  
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,  
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,  
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Next time the time stops for the Puck she is aware of the night. The teenager is not sleeping, that much she can see. He is lying wide awake, and tears are coursing down his face.

"I wish he just let me tell it," he mutters quietly.

'It's up to you to make him to listen,' the Puck replies, as she steps forth, lightly sitting down on the edge of his bed.

The boy starts, and his eyes widen.

'Who are you? We – I don't think we have girls at Welton.'

_The Puck gives a mischievous smile. She expected this reaction of him._

_'Hmmm… I'm Puck.' The girl's laughter rings through the otherwise silent room, and the boy sits up in his bed._

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,  
That brings our friends up from the underworld,  
Sad as the last which reddens over one  
That sinks with all we love below the verge;  
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

"What on earth are you doing here?" he demands quietly.

_The Puck stifles another break of laughter. Suddenly, she feels as light and free as a real fairy._

_'I'm here just to warn you. If you do what you're planning to, not only your life will be cut short.' That lightheaded feeling again,. And the Puck bursts out in gales of laughter._

The startled smile on the boy's face grows wider, and the Puck sees way too much of Alex Perry in this teenager.

_'Now, then,' The girl cocks her head to look at the teen. 'Of course, you know that death is not the only exit for you right now.'_

The boy's eyes widen.

"It's not?" His voice is soft and now he is sitting up, listening to the strange teen quite calmly sitting on the edge of his bed.

_'Nope.' The girl is barely able to control gales of laughter threatening to burst forth._

_'Actually, you have three choices. You can follow up with your plan. You can ran away. Or you can let your dad do what he wants with you.'_

"That's only two choices," The boy corrects her. The unfamiliar girl in Welton coat looks at him curiously. "Either my initial choice or running away."

_'Think about it,' the girl recommends, as she feels herself fading away. 'Okay?'_

"What's there to think?" The boy shrugs, as he puts his clothes on. "I sorta decided I'd like to live a bit more."

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet  
When far away an interrupted cry  
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

_The Puck watched in satisfaction as the tall teenager walked out of the dark house, with a light bag in his hands. Now she had succeeded – for now._

The teen glanced at her as she stood next to him for the last time.

"I think it's time for you to return to your own time, young lady," he teased lightly and quietly. "And thank you."

_"You're welcome," the Puck replied._

And further still at an unearthly height,  
O luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

The teenager walked away from the house towards the rising dawn, as the whispery image of the dark-haired girl, the Puck, slowly disappeared in the first rays of sun.

"Hey, Chhris, so good of you to finally join us," light voice of Alex Perry is the first thing the girl hears as she comes back to her senses. The world around her turns on its axes, as Chris slowly drifts.

"N…Neil?" the girl asks softly, cautiously trying to sit up.

"Nope, not Neil, it's Alex, remember?" a warm hand now holding hers.

"Ohhh…" Chris is drifting, and she is forced to lie back down.

"You gave us all quite a scare, young lady, comes another familiar voice. A head with fair hair pops up next to her worried friend. This time, Chris does not make any mistakes – Nikkie Anderson is there. "WE go to that graveyard and find you there, cold out with a bullet in your side. Man, you scared the hell out of us, Miss Puck."

"C – caught the shooter?" Chris asks, trying to sound as coherent as she could, given her small realisation that she probably was drugged.

"Yeah." That's Amy, piping up in the general worried noise. "That man's been killing off the actors like a madman, each time picking a person with one same role and dropping them. A curse, indeed."

A brief snort of laughter coming from her brother, George. Chris finally manages to open her eyes and stare up at her friends. She notices that nearly all of the Society are there – but one.

"Where… where's John?" she finally asks.

Her friends exchange dark looks.

"You're not going to like that, Chris…" Alex mutters. "We found him spilling beans on the Society, right after you disappeared in the graveyard. So we went ahead and told the truth. Miss Johnes wasn't too pleased, that her star pupils were in the mess with the past, as she said, and Johnny was expelled. The rest of us were acknowledged as an open club. The least we could do at that point is to tell her that we'll take ten new members, but here we drew our line – we did not feel we were supposed to be known of about."

"Oh, boy," Chris whispers. "I'm only absent for one day and here you are, getting in trouble, huh?" The others cringe in apology. "I think I'll be able to work it out with the Headmaster…" she paused for a second, thinking of something. "Miss Richards's still in, though, isn't she?"

"Oh, yeah, she's still in," Rojer reassures her. "Of course, we all had our ears chewed out by her for nosing in the graveyard for trouble, but she's still here. Deciding on what play we're going to put on for our last year here."

Chris manages a weak smile.

"That's good. At least, we'll be able to play in one where there is no one to shoot the people after it."

The others laugh uneasily.

"All right, you lot, clear off," a commanding voice of the nurse hustles the Poets and Poetesses out of the hospital room, as Chris allows herself to fall asleep…


	10. ten

**History's Repeat**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter one – basically, I don't own anything but the group and the timeline. That's all**

**A'N: I know I told you three more chapters somewhere in there, but alas, my imagination run out for this story, it seems. It also seems to me that I should be done, especially by the tone of the last chapter. So for now I am done. I'd like to thank those who took their time to read and review this story, in previous chapters as well as in this one. Here is the last chapter of History's Repeat.**

Epilogue

Chris stood near the window before the bell rang. She had come to class fifteen minutes earlier than usual, mainly to avoid the crowds in the hallways. English was the only lesson the girl could attend today, since she was only released from the hospital in the afternoon.

She had to think about it.

Looking in the mirror briefly, Chris gave a stifled gasp of mild surprise as she noticed that the outlines changed briefly. She was in the cave, and midnight fire was blazing from the dark.

Six boys were gathered around the fire, as one of them stood up holding a familiar thick book in his hands. The fire lighted his dreamy smile, and Chris couldn't help it but wink as the boy winked back at her. Apparently, his life was back to normal – or as normal as life at that time could possibly be.

"So, Miss Hatcheson, you finally decided to grace us with your presence here today," a feminine voice broke effectively through Chris's reverie. The girl glanced up with a start and gave relieved grin at her teacher.

"Miss Richards, good to see you're still in here. I was sorta afraid they'd kick you out."

Her teacher laughed briefly.

"It's quite alright Chris, this time the Captain's here to stay."

"Oh, Captain, my captain," Chris laughed, jauntily saluting her grinning teacher.

Her words were drowned in the bell announcing the beginning of the next class and the group of students poured into the room.

The year slowly came to a close. The group of students that became known as Dead Poets Society has grown from seven members to sixteen. The newest members haven't said a word of their existence so far. The group stood close by the doors of Welton with summer rolling over their heads.

"Oh, here's my dad now," Alex cheered. "Hey, Dad!"

"Alex." Perry the elder tried to sound stern, but his dark eyes twinkled with laughter. "What is it I hear about you diving head first in the so-called Society?"

"Da-ad," Alex whined. "Save the lecture, puh-lease!"

Mr Perry laughed and mussed up his son's dark hair. Alex wriggled out of his dad's touch who had now turned to the group. Mr Perry's eyebrows shot up in amusement as he glanced at Chris standing with Ana.

"Why, hello there, Miss Puck. What a pleasant surprise." He greeted.

"Mr Perry…" Chris was dumbfounded for a moment before grinning at him. "Good to know you managed to keep your wits around, Captain, Sir."

The man nodded at her lightly.

"Good to know you're all right, Miss Puck."

Chris slightly raised her eyebrows as she watched the two Perry men leave the group.

It seemed to Chris that the life came to a standstill in the cave. She sat down on the ground, hugging her knees together. The year had passed – nnot without problems, or without troubles, but still. And life became just that one year shorter.

_O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;  
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the foolish;  
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)_

_'_Imagaine this is somebody's life,' she remembered Miss Richards saying as the teacher picked up a leaf that day. 'It will soon fall apart, for the leaf is golden. Somebody's end of life. This one… the dust… is somebody who had already died.'

Chris sighed in the empty cave, letting dust and leaves swirl through her fingers.

"Somebody's lives, huh?" she whispered in the cave. "I guess I already left my verse in there."

_Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew'd;  
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;  
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;  
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?_

Lying back on the ground, Chris gave a sudden grin. The lightheaded feeling returned to her again, as she grinned lightly.

"All I have to do is to survive my next year and I'll be away from here," she decided aloud. "And I think it's important not to rush these decisions…"

The girl chuckled.

"Look at me, talking to myself. I don't really know what I'm going to do, but I think I already have left some sort of a verse here. I mean, we are on the open now."

_Answer._

Chris chuckled and rose.

"Dead Poets Society, huh," she whispered. "I wonder how we're going to survive the last year of school."

Regretfully, she climbed out of the cave, leaving the 'Five Centuries of Verse' inside – folded in the same material she had found it in.

"Don't you worry," she said before exiting. "We're not done yet. We'll be back."

_That you are here--that life exists, and identity;  
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse._

_**FIN.**_


	11. reference chapter

History'sRepeat

The List of poems used in the story

As the title says, here are all the poems I have used in History's Repeat – some were in the background, others were read by my characters. I did not put them in the required normally DPA format or whatever the heck they are...Here they are:

_Chapter One:_

_**'I had been one acquainted with night' by Robert Frost**_

_Chapter Two:_

_**excerpt from 'To The Virgins, To Make Much of Time' by Robert Herrick**_

_**a reference to 'O Captain, My Captain' by Walt Whitman**_

_Chapter Three:_

_**"In The Disused Graveyard" by Robert Frost**_

_**an excerpt from 'I went to the woods…'**_

_Chapter Four:_

_**'Spring Pools' by Robert Frost**_

_**reference to 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' by William Shakespeare**_

_Chapter Five:_

_**Excerpt from 'O Captain! My Captain!' by Walt Whitman**_

_**'To The Virgins, To Make Much of Time' by Robert Herrick**_

_Chapter Six:_

_**Lines from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' by William Shakespeare**_

_Chapter Seven:_

_**'Ode' by Arthur O'Shaughnessy**_

_Chapter Eight:_

_**Lines from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' by William Shakespeare**_

_Chapter Nine:_

_**'A Dream Pang' by Robert Frost**_

_**lines from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' by William Shakespeare**_

_Chapter Ten:_

_**Lines from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' by William Shakespeare**_

_**'Song: A Spirit Haunts…' by Lord Alfred Tennyson**_

_**Excerpt from 'Tears, Idle Tears' by Lord Alfred Tennyson**_

_**Excerpt from 'Acquainted With Night' by Robert Frost**_

_Chapter Eleven:_

_**'O Me! O Life!' by Walt Whitman**_

So if any of you are interested in it, you can hunt these poems down either through print or through the internet. The poems and excerpts are all here… Good day to you all

Antilles


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